Its funny how it goes,
how within the throes,
of passion and of death
One is aside,
another gains breath

I leave with a stumble,
and a look behind.
And I find myself fumbling,
for cleanliness, and absolution

And to the One
who was shuffled
and moved,
with wires crossed--

I do not know the meaning of this,
or the path which my feet tread.
And maybe with some dread,
She moves in your stead.

you reconcile the tatters of the pages
to set alight with the ashes of your cigarette.
you've saved a word in your scrapbook,
torn from the book with his hands
a memory of the chapter.

I took your photo from the whiteboard
where we keep our memories
safe from being worn and old;
where we remain forever
in youthful pleasure.

I hated how your bright playful eyes
stared back at me in love
and how I couldn't see them anymore.

In a grey picture
I rest my head upon your shoulder,
I'm trying to be my regular goofy self.
Looking at it now,
seeming so far away,
I cough up a laugh.
My nose is stuffy with the memory.

Merrick

When the final bell rings
and the workers scamper home,
greet me with salty kisses.

While the potatoes stew
and the fish bakes,
kiss me with salty kisses.

When we're beat
and watching tv,
peck me with salty kisses.


And while we lay together
alone at last,
give me salty kisses
and i'll be forever yours.


Sept 21, 2012

The knock was broken, sad
But in that broken knock
I knew I heard you

I hesitated.

The handle clicked
the door swung open

You were drunk
dressed in a green party dress
face to the floor
bouncy blonde hair covering your head.

You straightened yourself up
smoothed your dress
parted your hair
stumbled into my room.

Your pale face betrayed your red rimmed eyes
from tears past.
I tried not to be conceited
thinking they were for me
but secretly I knew they were

I let you flop on my bed
and lay motionless.
turning off the light
I moved beside you.

Did you think it would last?

I recalled those 4am calls with a shudder,
after you had been drunk several hours.
I was just a travelling companion,
part of your caravan of hurt lovers.

You said I was the only one,
but what was stopping you from action?
I could have visited you everyday,
but you stopped calling.
Except for at 4am.

Was it a lie?

I hope you're reading this right now,
so you know what I think.

I've found a girl who likes me,
and guess what? I'm only number 3.
Not 3, or 4, or maybe 5.
I know my place with her, there is no lie.

So now, as the plane is taking off,
and I'm leaving it all behind,
good luck with that life of yours.
I hope you make it past the feeding trough.

Anger excites the nerves of the internet.
A young boy,
5 or 6,
beaten by 3 men.
A hate crime, says the video.
Bullies.
Rascists.
Child abuse.

There is a crowd.
men and women, young and old.
Some join as time progresses.
The child is afraid.
He is crying out, hoping for a saviour.
He is holding back the flowing blood
coming from the break in his head.

And no one moves from the crowd.

And this video circulates.
15 millions views.
30 million views.
Disgust runs up the spines of the American,
sitting in their chairs, watching a crisp screen.
Comforted by their safety.

There is no bully for them.
No child abuse.
And so they watch what happens,
just as the crowd.
just as the man behind the camera.

And no one is moved from the crowd.

Euphoria.
Its waking up from a deep sleep, warm.
Its consuming a large meal,
seeing a good friend,
Sharing a laugh.
Passing a beautiful woman on the street,
creating something with your own hands.
It's entering a woman,
it's being intimate.

It's falling in love,
and ultimately letting go.
When I touch silk,
when I touch your skin.
When I see a star
and think about my atomity.

Its my bed when I'm tired,
its a hug when I'm sad.
A place to rest my head when I'm afraid,
excitement on a snow day.
Its listening to good music,
dancing mindlessly with friends.
Telling your father he's your friend,
telling your mother you love her.

Its 20 dollars found in your coat pocket,
nailing a skill you can't quite get down.
It's jumping up,
and running without pain.
It's christmas day.
Its reading a good book,
its telling the truth.
Its Pay day,
and new technology.  
The smell of a new book,
a memory with a loved one.

These are the things I feel now.

Merrick 2012

Death, ever present
In the gifts hidden away
Untouched and unwrapped;

crying mothers,
Christmas mourning,
gifts unloved by Sandy Hook.

I stood across the room from you today.
Grey sweater, hugging.
Aquamarine, clinging.
Jeans, scarred from mainstream mechanics.
I remember these things. From before, I mean. Was it not long ago that I touched these things tenderly? Did I not lift your shirt to kiss your belly? Didn’t I pull this same sweater from you to caress your arms?
You accused me once of not remembering the time, special in it’s time. You’re a man! It was not that long ago? You must remember!
At the time, yes, I forgot. The memories were a brief passing in my mind. Oh yes, I remember, I said; I was barely recalling. At the time, I recounted what I knew.

Now, I would love to have these times back. Should I ever find myself in this situation again, should you be there or not, I will use the very depths of my being to feel you. I shall remember what it’s like to next to you. I shall command my thoughts to focus. To not forget your hand on my neck, your head on my shoulder.

A smile! Was that glance mine? Your head down; I see you laughing.
Perhaps she is remembering a funny moment with her sister? Maybe her father has reminded her of something he said? Perhaps.
Perhaps she is remembering when we kissed. Perhaps she has seen my contemplation, she is embarrassed.  Has she recalled the time we laughed? The time we held each other; talking, without looking. Perhaps.

The last time I spent with you, all was as I wished it would be. Your mother made us supper; both were very pleasant.

The sausage we ate- it was dry. This is a real mennonite meal, said Scott. Maybe I should have agreed. I did not know what the mennonites ate.  

Zoolander, said her sister. I shall go to the movie store, boyfriend in tow. I went to go with them, but you suggested I didn’t.

The player hummed with anticipation.

The movie was mediocre. The colors were ugly. The theme, too much of this world. I laughed at some scenes, but scolded myself for doing so. Why did I laugh at something I knew so much about? Was I nervous? Surely, men are not that funny.
But, you found it amazing; I did as well.

I was finished with having this space between us. I was done. Time to move. And so, I did.
I walked to you. You were talking to a friend. I don’t think you noticed.
We’re playing your favorite, I said. She nodded and told me she was excited.

Did you look at me then? Did our eyes meet when you were excited? Your friend was there, but did she know? Was she curious?

I walked away. At least I have said something. At least one more chip is gone from this wall. Soon, another brick.

I decided I would walk downtown today,
past the irish pubs
and the fancy restaurants
on the oldest street in town

The icy air pulled at my cheeks,
making them hurt and go red,
like my grandmother.

I stuffed my hands into the
wool encases,
******* for each arm.

it comes as a shock,
feeling the final gasp of autumn
at the hands of winter,
triumphant.

I approach the familiar red globe
and two curvy tails
perched atop the glass titanic
reaching to the sky,
scraping our gas giant
with the edge of it's mirrors

But it is in this reflection
that strikes me,
more than the blinding light of the sun,
or the loud music across the street.

I walk alone.

I do not see your hands in mine
or your modest black skirt.

your beautiful bright brown eyes
no longer look into mine,
your glowing face no longer comforts me.
I can't see your hair,
or smell the smell of j-lo
coming from your skin.

I can't see your smile
in the mirror reflection,
and I can't see your beauty;
not for awhile.

A man takes your place for a moment-
he walks promptly past me,
grey briefcase in hand.

Stiff shoulders replace your soft skin.


he stays only long enough to snap me back.

back to without you.


Merrick
Nov 24,2011

A ghost ship in reefed water
in sleeping, two otters
where you tell me of your white, russian father

and how you'd rather
sail tattered
on friendly water

I drank to drunk
And walked over to that girl

I knew her from somewheres
We were acquaintances in the most distant aspect
She was kind of ugly

We talked about the weather,
And how Harper was an idiot.
We talked about how she loved her classes,
But she didn't ask me about mine

Eventually, we descended into silence,
And we turned to our phones.
I started a conversation with someone else,
while we were alone,

And it was silent

Things aren't getting better
With all these lines
Across the sand
Through another land
But we can pretend its fine

Once blue collar, never white collar
You're stuck with the dollars
You earn
And only learn
What you must
Cause these lines keep us separate
So just forget it

we started hot,
like the tequila on your lips
and the stuffy dance floor
you dragged me to.

quick ignition,
under flowing sheets--
bodies of water mingling their seas.

you see it a shame
that your shrine to you
cannot be perfumed
by digital incense

I am a pretty quiet guy.

I love math.
No matter what happens,
the rules don't change.
She is always quiet,
and I know what to do to make her happy.
She doesn't change her mind,
and she's always a constant.

I like to write.
I like the way words roll over my tongue
how they fit through my lips.
Language will always be there,
she will never take her self away,
leaving my lips to quiver in silence

I love music.
It is the kiss to my cheek when I wake,
and when I fall asleep.
Major or minor, her notes stay the same.
Always will she whisper sweet nothings in my ear,
never will she change.

I like to observe others.
How they interact,
how they mingle with each other
and show themselves off.
How they give subtle hints of their motives
in the hopes others will notice.
At a distance, I will never get hurt.
No one will ever call me out,
or tell me they're not sure whether they love me

I like to be alone.
I like the silence that only I can provide
I don't have to make light conversation
Or worry about whether I'm saying the right things,
which is good, because my mouth is a grave.

Merrick, nov 20, 2011.

If,
in wired calls
and tiresome halts,
no breath rings in my throat,
will you know I love you?

If,
in tired days
and soft beds,
the darkness speaks,
will you know I love you?

If,
in heartless nights
and colder mornings,
I grasp for air,
know I love you.

for J

I trudged away from the library
zippered up coat as i walked
put my hands in my pockets
keep warm

I walk past the metal grate
that leads to the source of wind
down the curb onto the lot

I see ahead
the glass behemoth
and metal structure
that holds lectures
and seats.
And beside this giant,
on the sidewalk below,
is the place
where i told you
"i love you"

We wrote our names in the snow
and connected them with a cross
i did my best to shape a heart around us
as you shaped my heart with your hands

We were embarrassed
when our friends almost saw,
but they trampled over it instead
not caring.
We laughed at this,
a sigh of relief.

Would it have been that bad?
probably not,
yet we feared being cute.
it was not befitting of our love

And now, the summer has melted away that time.
we grew a p a r t
as the sun shone down on us.
and as the autumn inhaled her icy breath,
we exhaled our last.

Nov 24, 2011

Fold your clothes into your bag
Don't forget your advil,
You'll need it for the jet lag

We both know this is it;
We can keep it terse
Just take our picture,
Fold it up
Keep it in your purse.

The city is waiting for you
And we ain't nothing new
You can see what they say
And maybe I'll see you around one day

"like, **** me man;
I know, I talk like this a lot,
and I get it, you're not a fan.
but I'm just trying to cope with it--
although I don't even know what I hope for.
maybe I'm just too alone.

I mean, I wanna phone to say how much I think about her,
but I don't think she'll have that;
is a hello too much to ask?

I think about those boots she liked, with the fur,
and where she put her head when she slept,
and that night I got too drunk on those flasks.
yknow, that night, we missed that band,
but if we're being honest here,
I was happy enough just sleeping with a friend.

why do I feel like this?
I told her,
and myself most of all,
'I can't do this right now. I'm prone to hurt and bound to fall'
and it was true! or, I believed it to be so,
but looking back, I think it was a defense:
it was a inherent wall
put up a long time ago to hide my lows.

and now here I am! telling you this,
hoping she didn't take part of me with her,
even as I was headed towards the door,
watching her saying goodbye,
naked,
on that old wooden floor."

Now I realize

pages are not filled with
the people as they are
but only as you wanted them to be
because
they are the melting snow
on the emerging spring

and you are the warmth

Lookingbackiseasy
when is wasn't that long ago.

And I usually smile when I do,
for I knew a girl
maybe better than most.
And the cost of
uprooting the sapling,
was you.

But when I return to the old tree,
and glance upon its knots,
I feel better.
Surely, it's not an oak,
but I'm sure it will grow straighter,
and it will be stronger.

It was the drawer that housed your love
which caused me to draw breath.
It had been a long time since I had seen that drawer.

I had hoped to never see that drawer again,
to never remind myself of what I left.
But here it was,
beside me as I slept.

I awoke in the morning,
determined.

Tonight.
Tonight I would tear it out.

dune grass hair,
beach skin, and
sea-salt sundress.
still, let me drink from you.

fill my sails with your sweet breath,
open my eyes and fill my lungs.
guide me through troubled water;
but still, sweep me away.

bring me somewhere new.
ship me to fresh water,
like your home town.
but still, keep me where I am.
still, leave me, unchanged.

I dreamt that we were naked.
coddled in white sun,
swathed in snow sheets

except,
only your eyes could breathe:
your body was lifeless,
only existing

in fact,
I remember your eyes the best;
lapis in ivory
crucibles in glass.

i am not the man i am to be
and maybe if i live till i'm eighty
i will be happy with me

but,
while time is plenty,
i cannot stay put,
cause i can only give up
what i have of me.

downstream weight
prices the upstream trout

but even upstream
tends to crowd you out

waiting to fall asleep
i forget the dream of last year
how you would gently weep
while our smoke filled the car

i'm not a music man
and I can't believe i'm writing this again
when i should have known it was the end

every night my dreams are the same-
my enemies call my name
to douse the fire
and quench my hearts desire

but as i slip away,
i know you are near, and that you wish to stay.
so as i run from expired time,
a small note is all i get you to
saying,
i love you

how is what
your why?
and why how;
why not where?
where is why, and
when is how!